The Theatre
by Kay Willow
Summary: In a place called the Theatre, an entire group of elitists is about to get what's coming to them. And it's going to come in the form of a single boy, who is... a perfectly nice rich kid? [part 9 up!]
1. Dreaming

  
I still live! Fear not, MK fandom! All my fics are still in-progress, Dual Potential still gets updated, and I haven't forgotten you! 

This is a "songfic" done to the Pet Shop Boys' amazing piece, "The Theatre", and I use the term songfic very loosely. This song doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the Pet Shop Boys in all their flamingly gay glory, but I'm going to be stealing lines from it the whole fic long. I estimate that there'll be twelve or thirteen chapters, and I swear by all that's holy that I will update it once a week until all the chapters are posted, short of emergency. All the "chapters" will be about this length. This fic is extremely, extremely, EXTREMELY alternate universe, and contains both gay and straight relations, as does just about everything I write. 

Just in case you're wondering, Megami Kouhosei doesn't belong to me either. But I can see why you think it might, what with how wonderful I am and all. 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   
  
  


_ It's another world here_   
_ The streets are gleaming_   
_ I was even dreaming_   
_ That they're paved with gold_

The Theatre was glowing with brightly-lit storefronts. It nearly blinded Erts with its beauty and splendor, with the riches and glory that cried out to the wealthy and the world-weary. 'Here,' they seemed to cry, 'life is still beautiful and people are still innocent and all your concerns will be put to rest!' 

Even though Erts had lived there all his life, it still seemed to him as though he'd never seen it before this very moment. What a difference a few feet could make... 

"Hello there," spoke a young woman, striding forward from where she'd been standing to one side of the great shimmering archways of the entranceway. She spoke in a strong, clear voice that rang out across the crowded plaza. "Are you Sir Erts Virny Cocteau, newly come from the Free Cities?" 

The men and women closest them halted in their footsteps. Then whispers arose, drowning out the chatter of those farther away, and soon enough the whole courtyard had heard about the sixteen-year-old filthy rich earl's heir from the Free Cities who had come on vacation to escape the dreadful responsibilities of being a filthy rich earl's heir. The whispering continued even once all this information had circulated and everyone's attention was on him. 

It was remarkable, how fast the right information could travel. 

"Yes," he said pleasantly. "Simply Erts will do, madam. You would be..." Feigning a stylishly bad memory, Erts half-turned to the figure standing behind him, awaiting a cue. 

Azuma carefully consulted a sheet of paper in his hand. "Rome Lotte, young master," he said firmly. "The daughter of Shelton Lotte, the proprietor of your hostel." 

"Greetings, Madam Lotte," Erts followed without missing a beat. "And this is one of the family chatelaines--" He could just hear the whispers rippling outward again at the verbal stone he'd tossed them: more than ONE family chatelaine? "--Azuma Hijikata." 

"Good will upon you both," Lotte murmured, curtsying vaguely. "I was told to expect you, Sir Erts. On behalf of this fair city, I welcome you to the Theatre." 

Nobody was quite sure how it had come to be called the Theatre. The city had once been called Rashville City -- appropriately, as the duchy it was the capital of was named Rashville -- but over the generations had evolved in character and in purpose. What had once been a political capital had turned into a haven for the wealthy. Entertainments, attractions, and diversions sprung up nearly overnight as Rashville mutated into the place that would come to be called the Theatre, a legend the world over. 

After all, nowhere else in the world could the young and the monied rule unconditionally. 

"It's a bit surprising that you've come here with a family retainer," Lotte was saying. "Most young lords who come here come alone, or with friends." 

Normally speaking, one wouldn't even call Azuma a chatelaine in the capacity he was currently acting in. A chatelaine was the manager of an estate, after all. Better describing an adult retainer function accompanying a Theatre-bound adolescent would be a term like "chaperone". 

"My parents are very worried about me," Erts said pleasantly. "They want to be assured of my safety, no matter the cost." 

Again, more whispers at the mention of the magic word: cost. Expense. Expensive. MONEY. Perhaps saying as much on the streets of a large city might be tantamount to begging to be kidnapped for someone else -- but Erts had no need to fear such a thing. Any potential kidnappers had be better-off looking out for themselves. 

The young woman stepped to one side and waved grandly. "Our establishment is this way, good sir. I am here to guide you." 

Erts was amused by the ripple of disappointment that ran through the crowd as he followed obediently in her footsteps, Azuma trailing behind him. It would appear that he had made a good start. Already, the Theatre was looking forward to his presence on the social scene. In a matter of days, he expected the city to be well and truly addicted. 

Exactly as planned. 

* * *

Are you wondering what's up with Erts yet? I hope so. 

There's going to be a grand total of SIX canon MK characters in this fic. This is an MK fic only in the most lenient sense of the word. There's going to be some OOC-ness floating around. But, to be perfectly honest with you, I can SEE Erts behaving this way under this set of circumstances... 

But you don't know what his circumstances are, just yet, do you? 

Bwahaha. 

--Kay 


	2. Display

  
Part 2! A bit late, due to Thanksgiving traveling, but here it is. 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   
  
  


_Seventeen, at half past ten_   
_All the crowds are surging past_   
_An electric display_

The room was very nice. Lotte's would not gain any true critic's highest praise, but Erts did not aspire to be a critic of residential domiciles. He complimented the hearty fare and ignored the lack of variety; the furnishings received the same cozy warmth that they emanated, and if the paint was wearing a bit thin and the draperies were somewhat threadbare, then so much the better. It suited Erts well enough to be perceived as shallow and stupid. Besides, being picky about his accommodations felt like the ultimate treachery of his roots. 

The reason he'd chosen this hostel in the first place was because, once upon a time, Shelton Lotte had been one of them. 

Azuma had hung back and rather neutrally volunteered to set up the young master's belongings, while the young master and the Lotte children went exploring. Rome Lotte and her twin brother Reme were very similar: gentle and sympathetic and reserved. This, too, suited Erts perfectly. Overly presumptuous or inquisitive peers would be only a trouble. 

By the time he had finished exploring the marketplace, Erts had acquired six acquaintances, twelve friends, and three "bosom companions". It seemed like half of the Theatre was present to at least gawk at the boy from the Free Cities, and the boldest of them approached him. Each time, Reme and Rome would draw respectfully aside and wait patiently, discreetly. Erts took great care to assure all of those who approached him that he was very new to the Theatre and very anxious to meet friends and very, very rich. 

Generous, too. He bought little trinkets for all of his new friends. They cooed and made much of his kindness, and he demurred politely as he watched their eyes glitter and their faces grow cold and hard with greed. He had them hooked, and he knew it. When a fisherman engaged in his trade, he dealt with a standard degree of uncertainty -- Were the fishing biting today? Was this a good spot? Was he using the correct bait? -- but Erts' kind of fishing was far more efficient. 

Throw money into the air. Erts knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the beast called human was always hungry for that bait. 

And to think,> Erts thought to himself as he paused by a jewelry stand to give the three debutantes who were watching him from a nearby pastry shop a chance to make their move. Some would call me jaded.> 

As it turned out, the fluttering ladies were only there to observe and speculate, but not to approach. Making the most of his position, he turned instead to the Lotte children. "Would you like something?" 

Although it took quite a bit of convincing on his part, he was eventually able to buy them gifts. Rome studied her new bracelet with an almost childish delight, and Reme clutched at the locket he had selected with a nearly feverish look of intensity in his eyes. Doubtless he had a girlfriend he would be visiting later on. 

Erts found their innocence refreshing, and appreciated their honest reactions. Perhaps he would have been so, if there had ever been any such generous person in his own life. 

* * *

I "bwahaha" some more. 

--Kay 


	3. Goodbye

Things begin to get weird here~ *singsong* Usually warnings and disclaimers apply. 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   
  
  


_There's another world here_   
_Beyond shop windows_   
_Upon the pavement_   
_Where you wave goodbye_

  


His first batch of friends was already coming through for him. 

"You've received three invitations, Young Master," Reme told him at breakfast the next morning. He had insisted on eating with the family, although Shelton was not present and Azuma was silent, as usual. "Two are from simple ladies, and one from an established lord." 

The Theatre had its own slang, as Erts knew from long experience there. "Established" in this context meant one of the nobles who had cliques of their own, the highest of the Theatre's internal hierarchy. Most of the aristocratic visitors stayed a year, sometimes even two, but an established lord or lady would remain in the Theatre until, inevitably, its one and only mistress turned her hand against them. 

"Who is the lord?" he asked coolly, sipping at his coffee. It was somewhat bland. He awarded Rome a brief smile for her efforts, and she blushed with shy pleasure.. 

Reme was taken somewhat aback. He had expected Erts to take the invitations and look them over himself, no doubt. After an awkward moment, he looked down at the envelopes in his hands. "Umm... This one is from Count Hadrian Farr. He requests you for a walk-about." 

"A walk-about?" Little more than a walking party, really; he couldn't count the number of times he'd seen a veritable parade of fluttering silks and frolicking laughter march past him in the early afternoons, presumably belonging to titled young people hiding somewhere amidst them. It was a good opportunity, to be certain. Erts had been afraid it would be something stagnant, like a private ball, or a masquerade party. But a walk-about would get him to meet far more people, and visit the shops. 

It's perfect,> he thought, struck by the notion. I could show off my wealth and generosity to hundreds of people at once. Perhaps I could buy the entire assemblage iced candy, or something.> 

With any luck, he would be able to repay Hadrian Farr's curious invitation by stealing his clique. 

And,> Erts thought, amused, perhaps something else of his, as well.> 

"Young Master?" 

"Erts," he corrected automatically. He suspected that if too many people called him that, he wouldn't remember to answer one time. 

"Sir Erts," Reme compromised. "Would you like me to send an acceptance to Count Farr?" 

"Yes, please do, Reme." Erts smiled again. "Thank you very much." 

Reme nodded and returned to his breakfast. Rome glanced down at her plate, flushing jealously at her brother's praise. 

She's taken a fancy to me,> Erts realized. Poor girl. Doesn't she know the rules of shopping in the Theatre? You can look all you like, but all you'll do is hurt yourself if you dream about having something that isn't in your class.> 

* * *

Are you thinking weird thoughts yet? ^__^ 


	4. Boys and Girls

  
Stuuuupid finals. But now that the final fuss is over, I'm back on track and better than ever! Posting schedule resumes, with only that one week being troublesome. Go me! But it isn't until NEXT part -- the first chorus -- that you really know what's going on~~ 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   


_Boys and girls_   
_Come to roost_   
_From northern parts_   
_And Scottish towns--_   
_Will we catch your eye?_

  


"...and so I went up to him, and I said, 'Daddy, this polo horse will simply NEVER do. If you think I'd be happy to receive this ugly nag, holiday gift or not, then you clearly don't know your leisure sports!'" 

Erts laughed politely along with the others, nursing his tea and hiding the sneer that he couldn't control. A carriage rolled past the café where the four "friends" were enjoying luncheon together; he followed it with his eyes and wished devoutly that he were on it, escaping from his "friends". Danka and Jessibelle were giggling as if Geoffrey's shallow, tasteless sentiment was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Maybe it was: Geoffrey was rich and handsome. 

"Cheers, Geoff," Erts said, keeping his tone light. "Why, I don't know WHAT I would've done if my father had tried to pull something like that on me. You should've tried to play on a hunting horse!" 

Danka shrieked with laughter, and Geoffrey choked on his tea and had to clean himself up with a handkerchief before daring to respond. "Th-- That'd be priceless! Oh, heaven! I can just imagine the look on the old man's face!" 

Erts smiled, modest. He liked making them laugh. They were much more vulnerable when they were enjoying themselves. It was difficult to be watching a close friend suspiciously while you laughed at their latest joke. Of course, he felt that their sense of humor was sorely lacking something... Like, I don't know, human decency?> ...but what they found funny, they found funny, and he was more than willing to cater to their tastes so long as it suited his purposes. 

Somewhere in the distance, the bell-tower chimed with brilliant resonance, the perfect accompaniment to a dinner of gentlefriends. But suddenly Jessibelle jumped up. "Oh no," she exclaimed, "It's almost four! I have to get home; Papa's throwing my eighteenth birthday party tonight!" 

Everyone duly congratulated her, and scolded her playfully for withholding such vital information as an upcoming birthday celebration. She blushed and fluttered and protested that her real birthday was two weeks hence, today was only the day her established daddy was using to have an event for HIS clique. She would be throwing one for HERS on the appropriate day, but the invitations hadn't gone out yet. 

"Well, in honor of Jessie's make-believe birthday," Erts teased, "I'll treat everyone and take the bill!" 

"Oh, Erts! You're such a sweetheart!" Darla exploded immediately, rocketing out of her seat and throwing her arms around his neck happily. Erts tolerated the embrace, patient. 

Geoff, too, looked delighted. "Oh, nicely done, Erts," he said admiringly. "I do swear, meeting you at Hadrian's walk-about was the luckiest moment of my life!" 

Or perhaps not quite so lucky as you think, dear Geoffrey.> Erts demurred, "I'm sure that's not so." 

"Oh, it IS!" Darla seconded, her voice impassioned. She flounced prettily, and her ringleted curls bobbed adorably. "That Hadrian! The only good thing he ever did for us was introduce us to you, Erts. But he's really quite selfish, and so arrogant..." 

"Yes, I agree," Jessie added her own opinion, nodding. "He should be more... more like YOU, Erts!" 

Erts smirked to himself, and immediately schooled it into a more appropriate expression. These three dilettantes were the most prominent members of Hadrian's clique -- if he had them, then he had the rest as well. It would seem that he had indeed stolen poor Hadrian Farr's followers. 

But he was not one to let a debt stand. It was thanks to Hadrian's good will that he had risen to this station in the first place, and he needed to repay the favor. "I rather like Hadrian," he murmured, counting coins for their bill and leaving a generous tip. "I think he's quite friendly. Perhaps a bit stingy, but there's nothing wrong with a little caution in one's monetary dealings." 

"You say that," Darla teased, "but I remember when we first met you, and you were kind enough even to give money to those poor beggar folk on the side of the road. I've never seen such generosity!" Still, her condemnation had lightened somewhat, and Erts could already tell that Hadrian would not be expelled from his own clique. 

Favor repaid.> 

"This Wednesday," Geoff said suddenly. "I don't know if she mentioned it, but Nettie is having a gala to celebrate the opening of her mother's new dress shop. She asked me to invite you, Erts -- will you be free?" 

"What time?" he asked, following the others out the door and into the evening-darkened streets. "I'm a bit busy that day, you see... A meeting with a friend of the family." 

Jessibelle fretted, "We have to hurry -- perhaps taking a back road? Does anyone know a shortcut up the Hill?" 

"Oh, yes," Erts interrupted, cutting off Geoffrey's reply. "I know the PERFECT way." 

The way was indeed shorter. A fifteen minute walk shaved to five by quick ducking through the alleys and side-streets. But the noble entourage had neglected to think of what might happen to a noble entourage in alleys and side-streets, and so it was with a horrified sort of epiphany that they found themselves surrounded by a group of ragged men armed with boards and grinning darkly. 

For a moment, even Erts was afraid. Perhaps, somewhere, something had gone wrong. 

* * *

This song is really evil. It's not my fault. ^____^ Just you wait. 

--Kay 


	5. We're the Bums: you pretend

  
I feel almost accomplished this week! Considering how I updated Dual, finished two fic chapters, etc. Read this piece very carefully -- Erts' secret is finally stated in here. ^_~ I also hereby thank "Chibi", because she emailed me and just so happened to mention how mean I was for not posting faster. And she even named the two fics that I was deliberately NOT posting chapters from, due to laziness... ^^ Well, here we go! 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   


_ While you pretend_   
_ Not to notice_   
_ All the years we've been here --_   
_ We're... the bums_   
_ You step over_   
_ As you leave the Theatre!_

  


"Erts!" Jessibelle's distressed cry woke him. He opened his eyes, slowly, but his vision was fuzzy. He couldn't see anything, and his head ached abominably, and he couldn't seem to breathe correctly. 

Am I... bleeding?> 

"Oh, Erts, you're alive," Darla sobbed. "Thank goodness!" 

Half-comatose though he was, Erts was still fully capable of feeling disgust. Merciful heaven, it's not like they had swords or anything.> 

Geoff's earnest face leaned over his, uncomfortably close, but it allowed his eyes to focus on those solemn features. "You are a hero, my friend," he said seriously. 

The melodrama of it all was enough to physically sicken. For a brief, frustrated moment, Erts wanted to shout out the truth -- let them all know how he'd played them for fools, how everything was just a great big orchestrated game -- but he quickly regained control over himself. He'd come too long at too great a cost to ruin everything now with an ill-timed admission. They had chosen him because he was the perfect actor. 

So he sat up slowly, one hand raising to his forehead with infinite tenderness, and asked, "What... what happened?" His voice was just the correct mix of fuzziness and confusion and swift-returning horror. Erts was really quite proud of himself. 

"Don't you remember?" Jessibelle gasped, and then clutched his hand to her chest for absolutely no reason that he could think of except more melodrama. "Oh, Erts! We were attacked -- set upon -- by thieves! And they stole all our money, but you -- you wouldn't let them touch us! You threw yourself at them and took two of them down, although their comrades dragged them away, but... when they tried to hurt us, you wouldn't let them!" 

"It was horrible," Darla vowed. "They hit you -- again and again -- with the plank... Oh, you ARE alright, aren't you?" 

He regained possession of his hand. "I... I couldn't recover our money, though," he murmured to the pristine white sheets he rested upon. 

"Oh, Erts, how could we care about the money?" Jessie cried. "You nearly got killed! It was only pocket change, anyway," she added, in a tone of great reason. 

Geoffrey inserted proudly, "When the ruffians fled the scene, I carried you here, back to your lodgings. It was the least I could do after your bravery!" 

"Those horrible beggars!" Darla stomped a foot. "To attack us in broad daylight like that!" 

"It WAS evening--" 

"They're getting too bold, is what I say. Those filthy creatures should stay in the gutter where they belong!" 

"Darla!" Geoff snapped, looking stunned. "You go too far!" 

"Lately they've been everywhere," Jessie mumbled, and her eyes filled with tears. "We aren't the first to be assaulted, you know." 

Erts noticed, for the first time, that the others had suffered some small wounds as well. There was a vivid scratch on Darla's forehead, and a bruise on Jessie's arm that had been treated with Shelton's own make of salve. Geoff appeared to have scraped one knee nastily. Why, the poor babies,> Erts thought uncharitably. 

Fortunately, at that moment Azuma chose to make his entrance. He fussed and fretted as any good manservant ought to, and ushered the visitors out with the oath that their hero would be treated well. 

The moment the door closed behind them, the subservient mask slipped away. Azuma lit a cigarette and cocked an eyebrow at the invalid blond. "I take it we were successful?" 

"Yes," Erts confirmed, swinging his legs off the bed. He winced as his head began to throb painfully. "Although for a moment I thought I'd walked into the wrong alley. Next time, tell Robin not to hit me so HARD. They're only nobles -- it's not like they can tell the difference between a real blow and a stage blow." 

"It's called professionalism," Azuma dismissed, turning to the window. "You've still got your rags, don't you?" 

Filthy and ruined though they were, Erts hadn't been able to part with them, even upon the assumption of his new identity and subsequent new wardrobe. "Yes." 

"Good. Don't misplace them; you'll need them for our visit on Wednesday." Azuma laughed, shortly. "I can't wait to go back to the sewers, I've got so much to share with the others! We knew you'd clean up to be a convincing aristocrat, but this -- This is too much! It'll make a great story. You're a freaking hero." 

"And they would never suspect a hero as having robbed them blind." Erts smiled, genuinely for the first time in days. 

* * *

So! Does everyone understand Erts a bit better now...? ^___^ If you're still uncertain, go back and read the lyrics for this section over again. Then you can properly express your feelings to me in a review! It won't take long, I promise. 

But don't worry. I'll keep posting anyway. ^_~ 

--Kay 


	6. Cash

  
Nariko-san, you were supposed to remind me to post this on time! >P Never mind. This marks what is essentially the halfway point, ladies and gentlemen, all three of you who read this fic: there are six parts after this, and this is part six itself. I'm a goodly way progressed with this, and it looks like it'll actually get finished -- oh rarity of rarities! But nobody panic, because Walks Among Thee and Crash and Meridian have NOT been abandoned. 

In the meantime, here we go! Introduction of canon character number four... 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow 

_It's another world here_   
_And somebody is singing_   
_I was only wishing_   
_For a bit of cash_   


  


Erts was not having a good evening. 

One wouldn't expect it. After all, he had everything he'd asked for. In the month following his act of so-called heroism, he had managed to secure himself not only the title of 'established lord' but a position above and beyond merely having a clique of his own. He was respected and adored in everyone's clique. There was no noble in the Theatre who would not have been proud to claim Erts Virny Cocteau of the Free Cities to be his friend and confidant. Countesses and duchesses giggled over something so simple as a charm bracelet that he had gifted them; barons and princes boasted of compliments that he had awarded them on their horsemanship. 

He had stolen from each and every one of them in return for the status boost of his name, and some of them more than once. 

But there was still, in the Theatre, one noble whose heart he had been unable to touch. 

The most widely-believed rumor stated that he was a marquis, but nobody knew for sure. Others whispered that he might be a prince, and others simply dismissed him as a minor lord. And that last rumor did seem to have the most evidence behind it. No wonder, they said, he spends no money and has no friends! He has no money to spend, no influence to grant! 

But Erts didn't believe that rumor. He knew the truth of Hiead Gner's vast riches, and he wanted them. 

Gner was not only a legend among the aristocracy -- the bums knew of him as well. Erts remembered his own days on the streets, hearing endless tales about the young lord, with his icy color and burning eyes. Although they were not generous, most nobles could be relied upon to occasionally spare a coin or two, if only for an exceptionally compelling beggar. But not Gner. That gentleman had never once given a single copper penny to the poor, never once shared a drop of his wealth with any other soul. 

Azuma was not one of the most respected of the beggarfolk for nothing: he had contacts high in the hierarchy of the Theatre. He said that he had seen a copy of Gner's tax forms, and that it was quite possible that the man was richer than anyone else in Rashville Duchy. Yet he spent practically nothing -- even when he went out on the town with the other members of his clique, the outsider's clique, he insisted that others pay FOR him. 

Erts had seen him once personally. He had accidentally dropped his wallet, and a single silver coin had spilled out the top and rolled away. A beggar girl, no more than ten, scurried to catch the gilded coin. A single silver wouldn't even buy Gner a fresh apple in the areas he shopped, and yet the man ran after the girl, grabbed her by her hair, and threatened to turn her in to the police for petty theft if she didn't return the coin to him immediately. Rare though it was for Erts to feel anything more than his usual dislike of the aristocracy, for he was a sensible soul and believed that every human had his own faults, that the nobility was only allowed to get away with more of theirs -- he remembered with startling clarity how furious he'd been, how outraged. 

How dare he? How DARE he? 

This was his chance! This time, his time amongst the aristocrats, blending flawlessly with them, the blessings of all his people upon him as he acted as a messenger of justice -- he could take their revenge. Erts wanted to take Hiead Gner for every penny he was worth, and give that money to the little beggar girl and her family. 

But Hiead Gner wouldn't approach him. It almost seemed as though, every time their eyes met across a room, a trace of a sneer would cross that fine mouth. 

It was infuriating. 

"How do I approach Hiead Gner?" he asked Darla. 

She laughed shortly. "You have to have a lot more money, a lot more foolishness, and -- if you'll pardon the crudity -- a lot more testosterone to approach Gner. He's a bully and a beast. He'll eat you alive." 

"How do I approach Hiead Gner?" he asked Jessibelle. 

She gasped at the very mention of his name, kohl-rimmed eyes flying wide in shock. Her fan fluttered nervously about her face. "Oh, oh, oh," she murmured. "He likes the casinos... But he almost never loses a game. You could ask the others of his clique but... well... they don't talk to him much either, that I've noticed. Raquel said that even though her cousin is in Sir Hiead's clique, well... The last time they exchanged words, poor Vince wound up with a broken nose." 

"How do I approach Hiead Gner?" he asked Geoffrey. 

"I wouldn't, if I were you," Geoff said absent-mindedly, not even taking the question seriously. "It's a wonder he hasn't been expelled from the Theatre yet, savage that he is." 

Erts would not take "no" for an answer. 

* * *

Hiead has arrived! It's good to see someone who is still determinably in-character, isn't it? ^_~ 

Next chapter will be released Sunday, I swear to God. ^_^ 

--Kay 


	7. Patron

  
Here we are! ^_^ 

In response to the person who reviewed last chapter and said that Hiead didn't seem all that greedy, you obviously haven't seen the official material for him. Over and over again, his cast profile says that he's greedy and hordes his money and gets very clingy about it. So Hiead is actually probably the most in-character person in this fic, even if it is hard to think of him as being that materialistic! 

Part seven of thirteen follows. 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow 

_ From a patron_   
_ Of the arts,_   
_ Or at least the_   
_ Phantom of the Opera--_   
_ Will I catch your eye?_

  
  


It had taken almost another month before Erts managed to successfully lure his prey into initiating contact with him, and only then by wandering into a gray area that Azuma might not have approved of. 

There was no guarantee at all that Erts would be any good at gambling. Pickpocketing he was good at; distraction and acting came to him far easier than genuine entertaining or honesty with others. The bums of the Theatre would never have chosen him for their representative if he hadn't been the perfect candidate for the job, and he hadn't let them down in any way; he'd already repaid the money they'd pooled for the purchase of his clothing, tenfold. 

Gambling was not something Erts could fix -- not by himself, anyway -- so he stuck to the games of logic, games where he could use his intelligence to manipulate the odds in his favor. Card counting, trend identifying, and luck combined to make him a formidable gambler, and within a mere two weeks of haunting the parlors he had already made something of a reputation for himself amongst the nobles who resided there. 

Few people really played at gambling with unwavering determination to win, in the Theatre. Why bother, when everyone there was a disgustingly rich lord or heir? There was no fun in losing or gaining what was essentially pocket change. 

But Hiead Gner took his gambling seriously, and thus, so did Erts. 

Soon enough, Erts found himself face to face with the young lord across a blackjack table. 

The dealer was rattling off numbers and rules, but neither of the principal players were listening. They studied each other, both evaluating. Erts took in every feature of his enemy -- the fine white hair, the flat red eyes, the tanned skin and narrow bones; he moved very slowly, very deliberately (like a fighter), and there was a wiry kind of strength in Gner's slender frame that Erts had rarely seen among the dandies of the Theatre. Gner was not the sort of man that Erts would risk meeting in an alley at night: fighting was not in any way his area of concentration. 

All of the beggarfolk had been coached in self-defense to some degree, in case they targeted the wrong aristocrat and found themselves having to fend off a knife or physical combat, or even a pistol. But Erts suspected that Gner would not fight with the stylized, refined tactics that the Theatre bums had been trained against; any battle with him would be crude, brutal, and violent. 

The way all encounters with Gner were said to be. 

"The house shows an ace. Would you like to buy insurance?" 

"No," said Hiead, immediately. 

"No," Erts echoed after a moment, relying on his gut instinct. 

The other players all chimed in, negative, following their lead. Erts spared a moment of scorn for them as the dealer began flipping cards. The first player maxed out, and the second stayed at eighteen. 

The dealer smiled at Gner, but the good-natured expression faltered and fell away at the unrelenting glare. "You... you have a king and a nine," the man said. "Nineteen. Stay?" 

"Hit me," Gner commanded curtly. 

A murmur of surprise went around the table. "But, but sir--" 

"Just do it." 

The murmurs escalated into shocked exclamations as the dealer drew the card, and reverently laid down the ace of spades beside Hiead's other cards. "Twenty," he murmured. "Just... just made it." 

Erts barely noticed the next player overbidding. He had an ace and a five -- a good hand, six or fifteen depending on how he chose to play it. There was no risk at all in calling for another card, he couldn't lose on it, and the odds were decent that he would get a low card to play with the fifteen. 

"Your call, sir?" 

"Hit me," he said firmly. 

The card was turned over. "A ten, sir," the dealer informed him, and Erts winced. Spectators once more murmured their response. "You have sixteen." 

Sixteen was the very worst number, probability dictated, to have in a game of blackjack. A quick glance at the other players' hands confirmed that there were still two low cards in the deck, and the dealer could only have one of them. Still, the odds... 

Erts glanced up, at Gner, and saw the smirk on his lips, and knew that he had to keep playing -- and he had to win. "Again," he said, defiantly, and enjoyed the stunned silence that followed. 

Slowly, the dealer drew the next card, and even slower, laid it down beside Erts' others. "A five," the man said, grinning. "Twenty-one for Milord Cocteau." Gaining speed, the dealer flipped his other card, and announced, "The house has thirteen, and draws... The house stays at twenty. Milords Van Price and Harraway have overplayed; Milady Verlaine has lost at eighteen, and Milord Gner tied at twenty and loses. Milord Cocteau wins the pot." 

Hiead Gner, Erts noticed gleefully as he accepted his winnings and the compliments of the spectators, did not look happy at all. 

* * *

Next chapter: Erts discovers that Hiead Gner is also not the type to take defeat gracefully. 

Am I evil? Yes. 

--Kay 


	8. We're the Bums: not to notice

  
Those of you who've been wondering about Hiead's characterization will find their concerns settled here. ^_~ 

Same warnings that applied to all the previous parts, and most of my fics, also apply to this part! Everybody belongs to Bunny-sensei, except for the people who suck, who are mine. Unless you think Hiead sucks. In which case, he's hers too, and she's welcome to him. 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   


_While you pretend_   
_Not to notice_   
_All the years we've been here --_   
_We're... the bums_   
_You step over_   
_As you leave the Theatre!_

"Milord Cocteau!" 

Erts paused in the hallway, and for just a moment allowed his triumph to fill him. Here was Gner, chasing after the man who had made him look a fool; and here was the messenger of the beggarfolk, with Gner's gold in his pocket. The only stain on this glorious moment was that the money had been won honestly in a game, and Erts would far rather have tricked him out of it. 

Turning, he could see the livid expression that had replaced Gner's typical frightfully cold neutrality. "Milord Cocteau," the man repeated, and this time the condescending venom of 'milord' was audible enough to be distinguished: there was no respect in that honorific. "I wanted to warn you that you're in over your head." 

"Pardon?" Erts said, feigning politeness. "I believe that I'm doing fairly well for myself, considering that I am new to the gambling arena. How have I become in over my head? I do not think that I am addicted to the amusement, nor am I losing any massive amount of my family's money; it seems to me that this..." 

"What family?" Hiead sneered. The question hit Erts like a blow, and Gner pressed his advantage ruthlessly. "What family, tell me? What money?" 

It took a heartbeat to recover his equilibrium to the point where he could act convincingly, but he rallied as best he could. "Whatever do you mean by that, Milord Gner? You clearly know my family name -- and my story is surely all around the court. You have only to ask anyone, and you may well get more about my family than is likely true!" For a moment, he was relieved that his protest sounded perfectly natural, unblemished by stammering or uncertainty. 

"You must think me a fool," Hiead said darkly, taking another step forward. "Everything that comes out of your mouth is untrue, including the lies about your nonexistent family." 

He knows.> It was impossible, and the worst thing that could possibly have happened. Erts couldn't imagine how his secret had been leaked, how Gner had learned; frantically thinking of a way to excuse the damage, he barely noticed the lord taking another step closer. 

When Erts did not reply, Hiead continued. "I know what you are, and I know all about your little games. I know that you've been cuckolding the whole court, playing them all like an orchestra, and snatching their purses with the help of your revolting little mud-loving associates." 

Erts forced his heartbeat to slow, composing whatever lies or bribes were necessary, but he didn't have time to do more than open his mouth before Gner grabbed him by the collar. A fraction of a second passed in a blur as Hiead hauled him around, lifting the slight young man clear off his feet in the process, and slammed him into the wall. Erts hit his head with a sickening crack against the wooden paneling. The various colors of the world inverted, and pain swam before his eyes; Hiead's face, that hateful sneer, came into focus just as the arm at his neck began pressing forward, cutting off his air supply. 

"You can play whatever games you want with the court," Gner hissed. "I don't care WHAT happens to those stupid bastards. But when you start messing with ME, you're going in far too deep. You're out of your league here, sewer swine, do you understand?" 

Nauseating pain was all that Erts understood -- nauseating pain and blinding hatred. 

Gner released him without warning, and the only thing Erts could do was topple over. It took all his willpower to keep himself from dropping limply; he caught himself on his hands and knees and remained there, coughing helplessly, while Gner stood over him. 

"If you cross into my territory ever again, I'll kill you," Hiead vowed coldly, and then walked away.   
  


The next thing Erts knew, he was in his own bed at Lotte's, and Azuma was arguing with a chimney-sweeper about how much she was owed for getting Erts back where he belonged. Upon seeing him awake, both turned to him. 

"Erts! What the fuck happened to you?" Azuma sputtered, nearly drowning out Greta's hopeful, "Are you alright there, laddie? Old Greta was worried." 

"You aren't fooling anyone, Greta," Erts managed to rasp out, but nodded towards where they'd placed his hidden coin belt. "Take a crown for your troubles." 

Azuma scowled at this commandeering of beggarfolk gold, but didn't object as the filthy woman scurried over to rummage for a gold coin. "Tell me what happened right now, or I'll pull you off this mission," he insisted. 

"Hiead Gner." Erts sighed. "I won money from him gambling, and he attacked me. He's much stronger than I am... but I am NOT giving up," he added immediately, with as much passion as he could muster, just in case Azuma was thinking that his will had weakened. "I want to milk the son of a bitch for every copper he's worth." 

"So why not getcherself a bodyguard?" Greta asked, habit making her hold the coin up to the light and check the finish. "Fancy lordling like your worship oughta have one." 

She snickered, but Azuma grinned. 

* * *

Next chapter, another character enters the scene... >D Guess who, guess who? 

--Kay 


	9. Everybody

  
It's a bit belated because of excessive build-up of schoolwork, but this chapter is dedicated to Nariko-san, who always prompts me when I forget to post, and Karyx-san, because reviewing three chapters in a row DOESN'T make you look like a dork, it makes me very happy, and it also helps me feel like I'm NOT just posting this fic so that I feel like I'm doing something productive. ^_^ Everyone who has reviewed, thank you very very much! I almost believe that people actually READ this fic now, and I'm not just posting it for my own ease of mind. 

In addition to all the warnings and disclaimers listed on the first chapter, which naturally apply to all the intervening chapters, I'm slapping on a disclaimer about triteness in this one. ^_^ Just in case. At any rate, everyone who can see straight knows who's coming in this chapter, so the opening isn't going to be much of a surprise to you. Read and find out what/where/why/how! 

* * *

THE THEATRE   
where it's another world   
by Kay Willow   


  
__

_(Hahaha)_   
_Everybody_   
_(Hahaha)_   
_Everybody_   
_(Hahaha)_   
_Everybody_

  


Azuma Hijikata was not native to the province of Rashville, as all the beggarfolk of the Theatre district knew. He was originally from the barbarian lands far to the East, and he had been a tradesman traveling with his apprentice to seek his fortune in foreign places. Unfortunately for him, he had wound up in the Theatre, where nothing was prized except gold, and Azuma had had little enough of that even before he had opted to live abroad. 

Within only a matter of weeks, however, Azuma had gathered together the various assorted bums and thieves and poor folk of the Theatre and organized them as a single unit. Somehow he had managed to acquire influence, and with his skill at management, the poor were gaining enough money for each of them to eat real food for one meal each day, sometimes twice a day. Azuma established a council rule for the underground civilization of the beggarfolk, and now five years after his arrival in Rashville, he had launched the grandest plan of all: the plan to take a nobody from the streets and use him to take a sort of karmic revenge upon those who had scorned the poor who had done nothing save for the sin of being born to the lower classes. 

Azuma had not forgotten his apprentice, however; the boy Rei Enna had been like a son to Azuma since the death of his parents had left him in Azuma's care. When it became more convenient to live in a foreign country, it was never a question that Rei would accompany him -- when he chose to settle down in the Theatre, it was never a question that Rei would do the same. The boy Rei became Zero, who helped the beggarfolk the only way he knew how. 

It was Zero who taught the poor to defend themselves; he was accomplished in nine different forms of martial arts, and experienced with twenty-two different kinds of Eastern weapons and thirteen different kinds of Western weapons. No one knew how he had acquired knowledge of all these things, not even Azuma, who refused to speak of the manner in which Rei had come into his care. 

It was, naturally, Zero who Azuma thought of when he needed someone to play "bodyguard". 

Erts thought about all of those things while he practiced the martial arts that he had been taught, moving through his katas with the ease of one who has internalized them long ago. He was out behind Lotte's, barefoot on the grass; the backyard was a small haven of perfectly-landscaped nature which he proudly professed that Reme had designed, for those few guests who enjoyed a little green in between excursions into the endless grays of the city. The rich soil felt good under his feet, and the grass was healthy enough to bounce back easily once his weight was gone. 

So he practiced his katas, to clear his mind, and hopefully, he would not be so foolish as to forget himself the next time he made a fool out of Hiead Gner. 

There WILL be a next time.> 

Because he was attuned and alert, he easily picked up the presence approaching him. When near-silent footsteps quickened into even more quiet running, Erts waited until he sensed that his assailant was ready to pounce, and then threw himself into a tumble to one side. 

He had barely somersaulted gracefully back to his feet when the next attack came, a quick blow aimed for his neck that he bent backwards to avoid -- he was still terribly sensitive where Hiead had strangled him -- and, with hands on the ground as support, kicked out in a counterattack that he knew wouldn't connect even though it really should have. 

As he expected, Zero managed to twist himself impossibly to avoid it. "Nicely done," the older boy said approvingly as Erts flipped himself back upright, wincing as a muscle in his back protested. "That would've hit anyone else." 

"I know," Erts began, preparing to go on to say that a simple 'hello' would suffice in greeting every once and a while, but Zero had already renewed the attack. 

He blocked and dodged lightning-quick blows, occasionally finding the space to retaliate but never so much as making grazing contact. At first it was nothing different than usual, but Erts soon began to notice that Zero was aiming an inordinate number of blows at his neck -- if a single one of those landed, Erts would be back in bed for a week. 

As if hearing the thought, Zero suddenly paused mid-attack, and looked irritated. "I could've taken you out, you know," he pointed out, shifting the fist that had been heading for Erts' throat, barely caught. "Your focus is too narrow." He waved his free hand. 

"Give the crippled a little leeway," the blond murmured, sinking to his knees in the soft turf. He was breathing hard from the adrenaline, covered in sweat; Zero was not terribly winded, but he was also gleaming with a light sheen of perspiration. 

"You're not crippled, you're just too lazy to do real exercise." The taller boy began rolling down his long sleeves, and then caught Erts' eyes. 

A quick breath escaped Erts, totally unrelated to his exertions of a moment before, and all it took was a heartbeat before he had launched himself back to his feet and then they were kissing feverishly. The rest of the world was chased away for that one brief moment: without any attachments at all, it was just the pair of them, Zero and Erts, and neither had to be anyone other than themselves at the insistence of others. 

"I missed you," Zero murmured into Erts' hair when they separated, and Erts basked in that for a moment before kissing him again. 

~tsuzuku~ 

* * *

I know it's trite. :P It's okay, I don't mind. It doesn't hurt the story any, and Erts needed some humanizing influence, and.... 

Zero! 

Right, so, here it is. 


End file.
